Bog Myrtle & Peat

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been dining like a king. As far as I’m concerned, grouse is the finest meat in the world, and when it’s still rare and a little bit bloody, it’s the best thing going. Fortunately, I have generous friends and family who have remembered me on their various grouse shooting days since the middle of August, and I have eaten my fair share of their bags.

There are a few elements of shooting culture which are a total mystery to me, and most are based around the idea of fashion. There was, and still is, a hotly contested competition to see which fancy hotel in London can serve grouse on the twelfth, and while helicopters and chartered aeroplanes are brought in to allow one or two people the “privilege” of the first bird, from my perspective, the race is a little hollow. Hanging birds before eating them adds that extra tasty tenderness to the meat, so despite the fact that people are paying upwards of £65 a bird to eat it within hours of its being shot, they’re missing the best of the flavour. I suppose that in some circles, claiming to have eaten the first grouse of the year is commendable, but it’s something I find hard to get excited about.

Far better to let the birds hang for a few days before roasting them for half an hour and serving them with a good dose of mashed potato. Boil the carcases (what’s left of them) into stock and feed the final few shreds to the ferrets. That’s the way I’d do it…